But when she turned to face him and put her small hands on her hips, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He set down the brush and held out both hands, palms up, signing “What?”
“You know what,” Amy signed in response.
He did. He didn’t want to, but his daughter’s message had been clear enough.
“Not a good idea,” he signed back.
Which earned him the inevitable, “Why?”
Why? There were a thousand reasons, none of which he could explain to an eight-year-old.
“I want Claire,” she signed, her face getting that stubborn look he dreaded.
As a rule, Nicole looked after Amy from the time she left school until Wyatt got away from his work. If he was in the office, she would come there instead, but most afternoons he was on a job site—not a place he wanted his eight-year-old hanging out.
But with Nicole recovering from surgery, babysitting was becoming a problem. Amy wanted to propose her own solution.
He didn’t think telling her that Claire wasn’t the babysitting type would help. Amy wouldn’t know what that meant. He also couldn’t get into the fact that he’d decided to avoid Claire as much as possible. The sparks between them were too dangerous, not to mention unwanted.
“I like her,” Amy signed. “She’s nice.”
Wyatt could think of a lot of words to describe Claire and none of them included the word nice.
“She won’t want to,” he signed back. “She’s busy.”
Amy grinned. “She likes me.”
He didn’t know how to deal with that. Maybe Claire did like his kid—assuming she was capable of liking anyone but herself.
“I’m not asking for a pony,” Amy signed, making him smile.
It was their private joke. Nothing was too big as long as it wasn’t a pony.
He was trapped by his inability to tell his daughter the truth. That he didn’t trust Claire and he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could control himself around her. How was that for a sad excuse?
“I’ll talk to Nicole and Claire,” he signed. “No pushing.”
Amy’s response was to throw herself into his arms. He pulled her against him and hugged her. Love filled him, as it always did around her.
He might have the worst luck with women, but when it came to kids, he’d been blessed with the best.
THE PARKING LOT at the bakery was jammed. Claire had to weave her way through cars just to get around to the back. She found a space by the wall and managed to pull in, although she had no idea how she was going to back out.
She walked purposefully across to the rear door of the building and entered. “Hello?”
When there was no answer, she headed toward what she assumed was the front of the bakery. She pushed open a swinging door and entered chaos.
There were people everywhere. They filled the waiting area, pushing aside tables and looking impatient.
There were so many people, she thought, feeling a little sick to her stomach. Did they all have to come at once?
Sid spotted her. “What took you so long?” he demanded. “We’re busy here.”
Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the back. He set her purse on a small desk, then reached into a box and pulled out a hairnet.
“Put this on.”
She took it and fumbled with it for a second, before he grabbed it and shoved it on her head. After thrusting an apron in her hands, he dragged her toward the front.
“Maggie will show you how to work the cash register. It’s easy. Punch in what they buy, tell them the total. Take their money. Credit cards are even easier. Good luck.”
With that he disappeared back into the bakery, leaving Claire standing there with no idea what to do.
The woman she’d seen the previous day handed someone change, then hurried over. “Prices are on the list here.” She showed Claire a laminated sheet of paper by a cash register. “Doughnuts, bagels, pastries. Don’t worry about the quantity button. If they buy five, hit the key five times.”
She quickly went over the basics of the machine, showed her how to work the credit card part of it, then pointed to the glowing number on the wall. “Call the next one.”
That was it? Thirty seconds of training and they were done? Claire looked around, not sure what to do. She glanced back at the wall.
“Um, number one-sixty-eight?”
“Here.” A well-dressed woman pushed to the front of the counter. “I need two dozen mixed bagels, the same with muffins, regular and fat-free cream cheese.”
Claire went over to where the bagels sat in metal baskets. She pulled out a small brown bag, reached for a tissue and started putting one of each kind of bagel into the bag. After a couple of seconds she realized the bag wasn’t going to be big enough. She pulled out a bigger one, then didn’t know how to get the bagels from the first bag into the second one.
“Can you hurry?” the woman asked impatiently. “I’m running late.”
“Um, sure.” Not knowing what else to do, Claire dumped the bagels into the second bag and continued filling the bag. When she got to ten, she’d gone through all the bagels, so she started back at the top of the case, trying not to bump into Maggie and the other man working.
She took the bagels to the woman. “I’m sorry. What else did you want?”
The woman looked at her like she was an idiot. “Cream cheese. Regular and fat-free. And two dozen muffins. Quickly.”
Claire turned, not sure where the cream cheese was. Maggie thrust two containers into her hands.
“Thanks,” Claire murmured, then went to get the muffins.
When she’d gathered everything, she went to the cash register. Her customer handed her a credit card. Claire stared at it, then the machine.
“Dear God, could you go slower?” the woman muttered.
Claire’s chest began to tighten. She ignored the pressure.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said with a smile. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I never would have guessed.”
Maggie came over and took the credit card. “I’ll ring this up. You go to the next customer.”
Claire nodded and looked at the number reader. “One seventy-four.”
Two teenagers in uniforms stepped forward. “A cherry-cheese Danish and a medium coffee. Leave lots of room for milk, please,” the first girl said.
“Sure.” Claire drew in deep breaths, but that didn’t make the pain go away. The tightness only increased until it made her ears ring.
She moved around Maggie and stood in front of the display case. “Which one?” she asked the teenager.
“The one with the cherry and cheese on it,” the girl said and pointed. “Hello. That one.”
Claire reached for a tissue and pulled it from the case. She handed it to the girl, then went to get coffee.
There were four dispensers standing in a row. She took a cup and managed to fill it nearly full. When she carried it back to the teenager, the girl stared at her.
“Medium, not small and real coffee, not decaf. What’s wrong with you?”
Claire looked at the cup, then back at the stacks of them. At